I am not a fan of centipedes. No. Not a fan at all.
It started with one in the shower. That was followed by a pair of nasty beasties running out from between my legs while I sat pondering on the chamber pot. Whether they were chatting, mating or just attempting to force an immediate evacuation of my intestines, I'm not sure, but they certainly succeeded at one of those tasks.
I didn't see any more for several months - not until I was studying for a particularly crucial midterm. While I was sitting at my desk, notes and books spread out in front of me, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I thought nothing of it. I felt an itch on my foot. I looked down.
Bad idea.
It was about 6 inches long and very interested in my toes. I screamed.
What I'm trying to say here is they've managed to appear at precisely the wrong moments, and now my stupid simian brain has worked itself up quite a little phobia.
Now, this is not the only phobia I have. When I was five, a yellow jacket flew into my left eye while I was walking down a sidewalk and stung me. To this day I can be seen randomly flailing my arms and jerking my torso away from an unidentified smear of movement that my brain believes may be a deadly and terrifying threat.
Meanwhile, everyone else just points and laughs.
Wasps, at least, are dangerous. Centipedes, on the other hand, are harmless to humans. I know that they're beneficial in many ways to the internal ecosystem of a building. I know that the only reason I'm frightened is a combination of bad luck and my own natural sissy- pansy tendencies. However, my brain will happily give reason the finger as it floods my bloodstream with adrenaline upon sight of the leggy bastards. It's time to run, and the time to run is right now.
For some reason, I had convinced myself that centipedes weren't ubiquitous, that my apartment last year, a structure at least 125 years old, was far more susceptible than most places. As long as I exercised judgment when picking my new home, I should be able to avoid pests.
Boy, was I wrong.
The new apartment looked nice. It was a two floor section of a house with a finished basement, jacuzzi, pocket doors and high ceilings. It seemed to be in good condition with a quality interior and a landlord who cared about owning good, clean buildings.
On move-in day, it started right away. No sooner had I unlocked the front door with a box of cleaning supplies in hand before I saw one fleeing from the light. A trip to the kitchen found a pair having an enjoyable time in the sink. The basement had several small ones taking refuge in corners.
Thankfully, my roommates are both sympathetic to my plight and completely unafraid of bugs whatsoever. After a spree of cleaning, pesticide-spraying and good ole' shoe stomping, we had cleared the apartment of every centipede that we could find, hopefully for good.
That's when we noticed the bats.
Keaton Miller is a senior majoring in math and economics. Next year, he plans to just move right into Vilas Zoo. At least there, the animals are in cages. As far as centipedes go, he's trying to believe that the one in his room last night was an isolated incident and will never happen again. He's trying real hard. Contact him at keatonmiller@wisc.edu._
